


Set Upon Her Mountain

by kinaesthetic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (supernatural) dog attack, Drama, F/F, Monster of the Week, aka my signature genre, also early relationship pharmercy, early recall era overwatch, espionage and coverups, in-universe with a twist, poetically graphic description of blood/injury/corpses, there's a supernatural plot and a political shitshow subplot, trying something different for hellhound, using illegal organizations to do your dirty work under false pretenses, with a side of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-04-23 22:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinaesthetic/pseuds/kinaesthetic
Summary: As requested by the Egyptian government and aided with Helix Security vehicles and weaponry, Pharah and the strike team that she fondly refers to as “the Old Guard” travel to south Egypt to investigate an abandoned pyramid harboring suspicious activity. Soon, they find that they are not the first to approach the pyramid, peacekeeping intentions aside.Something ancient lies in wait for them.It is far from pleased.





	1. Tomb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunari/gifts).



> ooh what's this?  
> shorter chapters? half pre-written? complicated plot? all yes.  
> yes, the posting date is significant. <3 Happy birthday!  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pharah watches from above as they approach their mission objective.

The wind whispers over the desert sands, snaking its way under Pharah’s helmet and tousling her hair. She takes a deep breath, letting the cool, dry air fill her lungs. Returning to Egypt always feels a bit like coming back to shore after a long swim, and even the Raptora seems to agree; her HUD lights up, showcasing the well-met optimal operating conditions as she flies far above the desert road. The convoy below her seems like nothing more than an odd breadbox, so she drops her altitude until she can see the bulk of Reinhardt’s hammer glinting in the soft moonlight.

As their illegal Overwatch operations go, this one has been tame, almost unreasonably so. Even under the cover of night, the atmosphere is markedly less tense than many others thus far. One of the few countries to completely ignore the PETRAS Act and buy into the whispers of the recall, the Egyptian government requested that Overwatch, aided with Helix Security vehicles and weaponry, travel to south Egypt to investigate an abandoned pyramid harboring suspicious activity.

Content with the apparent abandonment of the surrounding desert, Pharah flips through the mission dossier on her HUD, careful to keep an eye out as she follows the rumbling vehicle below. The map shows them as no more than a couple kilometers out from the Anpu pyramid.

 _Odd choice for a Talon hideout,_ she remarks to herself, lamenting that she had not done more research before they left the reliable internet connection of the briefing room. The dossier tells her little more than what she remembers from the briefing, which had been, quite frankly,  _brief_.

_Move in undetected, capture the hostiles, power down their equipment, figure out what they’re up to._

“Pharah, how are you up there? You can always come down for a bit, you know.” Mercy’s voice carries the hint of a gentle tease; it brings a smile to Pharah’s face. She tries to keep the amusement out of her voice while she answers.

“We’re not far from the site. You know I’d better stay up here in case we’re engaged.”

She can hear her mother sigh over the comms before she speaks. “You’ll burn up all your fuel, Pharah.”

“Not with the self-sustaining fuel tank. I got an upgrade, remember? A ‘welcome-back- we-miss-you-please-don’t-leave-again’ gift.”

Her mother’s grunt is her only reply, save for a bit of good-natured snark that only Mercy and Pharah laugh at; Reinhardt and Tracer’s Arabic is much more limited.

Pleased, she looks down on the convoy and watches the glint of Reinhardt’s armor as he waves up at her from the car. Perhaps her job could have been done by a drone, but Pharah looks around the landscape and knows the air is where she belongs. Besides, ahead of the low-hovering jeep is a small drone that’s being piloted remotely by Shrike.  There’s only so much technology they can carry out into the remote landscape.

When Helix had insisted on the dummy– a remotely-operated miniature drone– Pharah recognized the protocol from her time in the security firm. It struck her as odd earlier, that the reasons for the drone were not quite explained, even though its use was presented as a necessity. Now, as the explosions from buried landmines suddenly rock the drone, she realizes that many things must have been missing from that briefing.

The blast shakes the ground, throwing a cloud of dirt, sand, and dust into the night sky. Pharah jets to get away from it, swerving to the left. Below her, the jeep jolts to a stop, turning slightly to the right as it does so. Already, Reinhardt has leapt to position his shield between the jeep and the explosion. His armoured body rests heavily over the frame of the jeep but, even as Tracer ducks down out of the way, no one complains as the shield blocks shrapnel and heat from the team behind it.

Pharah jets upward to gain some altitude before aiming a concussive rocket at the road ahead of the drone, but her smaller blast does nothing but set off a series of mines throughout the same section of road. No gun-bearing Talon agents swarm the truck. No flashing lights of a camera drone blink from across the desert. Not even the road ripples with some revealed hostility.

The strike team holds their collective breath, faces and masks doused in the muted blue light of Reinhardt’s shield. Pharah flies backward and lands behind the vehicle. As she flips up her visor, she meets Mercy’s worried gaze.

“Shouldn’t we scatter or something, Cap?” Looking over her shoulder, Tracer raises an eyebrow at Shrike, who betrays nothing beneath her mask.

“We are not to be simply _scattered,”_ Shrike scoffs, looking out at the battered remote drone. She fiddles with the controls on her tablet and before long, it has righted itself. They hold their breath as she directs it further along the road.

Nothing happens.

The desert night swallows up the sound of it hovering calmly along the road. The team trades a series of uneasy glances.

“Alrighty then,” Tracer drags her vowels out, attempting to mask her worry with humor. “ I’ll just keep driving, yeah?”

“Reinhardt, sit up front with Tracer, will you? Shield the jeep while she drives. Mercy, keep your head down back here with me. Pharah, stay in the air and keep an eye out for us. I don’t trust this silence.” Shrike commands with no room for question and they all scramble to do as she asks. Pharah replaces her visor and rockets back into the sky.

The rest of their journey is eerily unremarkable. As the silhouette of the Anpu pyramid grows larger in their sight, the road offers no more surprises. When they come within a few hundred meters of the base of the great stone structure, Tracer shuts the engine off and the team clambers onto the cold sand, keeping an eye out for any more traps. They spring none and soon they are on the doorstep of the scaffolded entrance to the pyramid.

On the south side, the remains of a small temple lay half-buried in the sands. An abandoned food cart has met a similar fate at its base. Pharah lands near the ruins, looking for signs of recent activity. At this structure at least, the latest activity is the failed tourist trap. Too far from Giza and the rest of the popular pyramids, she can tell this was a lost cause from the beginning.

Meanwhile, Reinhardt throws up his shield, allowing Tracer and Ana to peer into the dark pyramid shaft before them.

“Sorry to say so, Shrike, but I don’t think I’ll be able to fit in there,” says the old German with a chuckle. Shrike sighs, dropping her shoulders in disappointment.

“Tracer, can you throw a grenade like you throw your pulse bomb? The floor plans indicate a large room opening up in about twelve meters. Perhaps we can incapacitate them before entering blindly.” While Mercy is speaking, Shrike unhooks a grenade from her belt and hands it to Tracer. The Brit hefts its weight in her hand and nods, stepping past the shield to peer down the hallway, clearly running the math in her head.

“Twelve meters? No problem. How 'bout it, Cap?”

Shrike turns on the flashlight of her rifle and holds out a hand to silence her, then taps her comm. “Pharah, I gather you caught all that. Keep watch from up top, no engines. Reinhardt, watch the door. Tracer, toss it and move in. We’ll have your back.”

Pharah jets up from the temple as soon as she has her orders, touching down gingerly on the worn-down tip of the pyramid. Its oddly sloping sides are littered with fallen stones, but even now it retains its basic shape. From here, she can see the whole desert, the bright cities in the far distance, the pinpricks of stars in the sky, the half-moon watching them all.

She glances down to see Tracer lob the glowing grenade down the hallway and dash in, followed closely by the other two women while Reinhardt posts guard at the door. Taking a seat, she listens to the comms, curious as to what lies that the end of an incomplete briefing, a sparse coverage of mines, and an unguarded, alleged base of Talon operations.

Of all things, she was not expecting Tracer’s muffled shriek, followed only by stunned silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and yes, the pyramid in question is based off a real one, but the name is different, out of respect. the very idea of soiling a burial space makes my skin crawl.


	2. False

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Strike Team encounters something disturbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added a gore/injury + dog attack tag for this chapter, just to be safe!  
> also, it's another cliff hanger. feel free to yell at me, but i am warning y'all again.

“ _Herrgott…_ ” It’s Mercy’s horrified gasp that comes across the channel next, then a gagging noise that must be Tracer. Pharah winces sympathetically; the younger pilot had the stomach for most horrors of war, but there's still a few things that can cause her such distress. There’s another beat of silence and from her perch, Pharah can see Reinhardt look over his shoulder at the entrance.

“Apparently, something else got here before we did.” The sound of a flare being lit crackles across Shrike's comm. “There are...five, no six, bodies here. Mutilated, decomposing, but Talon insignia are on their uniforms. They had time to establish a base of operations, but there's no clear sign of what they were doing here. Watch your steps.”

“Forgive me if this is crude under the circumstances, but they appeared to be thoroughly... dried out,” Mercy says. “But the blood is thick underfoot. Such a volume couldn't be from these bodies alone. Not to mention how congealed it is. Shrike...”

“Perhaps you should come out? That does not bode well.” Hearing Reinhardt's grim tone, Pharah can't help but shudder a bit. If the old Crusader is spooked by just a description...

“We’ll be out in a bit, luv! Maybe I’ll even come out to keep you company if I'm not needed here.” Tracer keeps up a rambling stream; no one stops her from doing so. Pharah sighs and looks out to the dark horizon, nearly indistinguishable from the dunes. Eventually, the comm chatter fades into the occasional comment, the clicking of a camera shutter, and some rustling as her teammates try to salvage the operation and document the scene.

“Pharah, what’s your status?”

“It’s all clear for miles; there’s not much to see.” Pharah flips through her visor’s settings from night vision to visible light to infrared to night vision once more. Then she flips her visor up and lets her eyes adjust to the moonlit landscape, shifting slightly to accommodate the awkwardness of her armor on the rough stone. “It’s awfully quiet out here.”

“Shine a torch down that hallway there,” whispers Tracer. There’s a moment of silence as either Mercy or Shrike do as she asks. “There’s more bodies down here. Oh god, there’s dozens. And those are _Helix_ insignia!”

“Tracer, please don’t-” Mercy trails off as Shrike cuts in, “We’re taking the data and we’re going back. Mercy, make your assessment quickly.”

“But...do you hear that?” Tracer’s whisper sends chills down Pharah’s spine. The double click of her pistols’ safeties being released has Pharah on edge. She places her hand on the stone beneath her, ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Small spaces be damned, she will not lose her friend, mother, and lover to whatever horrors are lurking inside that tomb.

Shrike sighs. “Tracer, I understand that you’re spooked, but please-”

“Oi, hush! Listen! I hear growling.” She hisses. “Mercy, get back here!”

“Tracer, I am still examining-”

“That’s a bloody wolf-!” A burst of pulse fire comes across the comms, deafening from the echo of the enclosed tunnel. Pharah turns, ready to shoot to her feet and take off-

If not for a pair of golden eyes.

The soldier freezes, watching them blink slowly. The eyes can’t be more than a few feet away so, she doesn’t question the animal’s lack of distance; at best, it’s been feeding on the tomb bodies and has a taste for human flesh and at worst, it’s rabid. She swallows, considering first a concussive blast, then simply flying away. Ancient and enduring architecture aside, the pyramid could collapse if she’s careless, trapping the team or worse. She sticks one armoured foot out to brace herself. Lacking few other options, Pharah pulls her helmet off slowly and throws it to her right.

Much to her dismay, the animal pays the helmet no mind as it clatters down the pyramid. Its eyes narrow. The growl that comes from the beast is none too kind. Pharah heeds the warning and stills once more, keeping her eyes on the creature shrouded in shadows. It creeps closer and in the dimness of the moonlit and light-polluted night, she can make out the shape of a dog; its fur is an even inkier black than the landscape behind it.

“Pharah, Reinhardt! We've gathered enough evidence to retreat for now. There’s wild dogs in these tombs.” Shrike’s voice sounds tinny in her earpiece, especially as the dog’s eyes shift and zero in on the noise. The rest of the world falls away, reduced down to only the shared gaze between the Egyptian soldier and the dog.

_They call you Pharaoh. How...peculiar. As one who defies the gods so often, you have no claim to the title._

Pharah freezes, staring at the dog. Its hackles bristle as it stalks closer with blunt claws clinging to the rough bricks. Its lips curl, revealing bright white teeth. Thinking of her exposed neck, she can no longer endure the closeness and she stands slowly, never taking her eyes off those molten golden eyes, glowing in the night.

“I am not a pharaoh,” says Pharah softly, trying to keep her voice low and off the comms. Still hoping she had imagined the terrifying reverberating voice, she hopes it will flee instead of attacking. Instead, it comes closer, growling audibly and the same strange voice echoes in her head.

_Do not lie to me! You bear the udjat, do you not? Are those not your people to protect? Do they not serve you while you perch on high?_

Pharah raises her hands in a placating gesture. “I am no more a pharaoh than you are an ordinary dog.”

 _Hold your tongue, mortal. How_ dare _you presume my nature! You, with your stolen_ Ka _and many lives. You presume to deserve them, calling yourself Pharaoh and reigning above them-_

The dog seems to swell, drawing the darkness around it like a billowing cloak. Frightened, Pharah takes a half-step back, foot slipping on the crumbling stone. She fights to keep her balance and succeeds just barely. The dog bares its teeth in an awful snarl.

_I’ll have your heart for this!_

Before it even finishes its sentence, the dog lunges for her. Before she can bring up her rocket launcher to block it, it slams its paws on her armoured breastplate with an awful crack, but the sound of splintering bones do not deter it. Its powerful jaws open and, for a brief second, Pharah’s world consists only of the stench of rot and bile before the maw of teeth lodge in her throat, tearing through her flight suit. The impact of the attack launches her backward and the entangled pair tumbles down the side of the pyramid.

Pharah’s scream of terror drowns in the flood of her own blood, gushing into the throat of the livid canine. The pyramid crumbles beneath each impact, raining rocks onto the soldier as she falls. Her launcher has long been lost in the tumble. Dizzied, she pushes frantically at the dog’s chest. She can’t push very hard through the panic and pain; the dog takes full advantage of this and sinks its teeth in even more.

By the time she hits the desert sand at the base of the pyramid, the dog’s teeth have sunk well into the blood vessels of her neck, shredding them until Pharah begins to feel lightheaded. She can hear the team shouting over the comms, see their blurred forms rounding the corner of the pyramid, feel the sand shudder as they sprint toward her.

Past the billowing fur of the dog, she sees the shots of her mother first, her bright blue tranq, then her biotic darts.  The darkness surrounding the dog swallows the darts; their fast forms sink into the viscous shadows. The tar-black canine pays no mind, tearing relentlessly at her throat, gold eyes gleaming with malice. Tracer’s pulse fire has a similar non-effect; the bright bullets disappear into the dog’s fur.

It’s not until Reinhardt swings his hammer at the dog that the team makes an impact. The great hammer glances the bolster of Pharah’s breastplate as it obliterates the beast into a fine dust of black sand. It floats away on a strange wind that takes it far above the pyramid and out of sight. Eyes wide, Pharah can only watch it go for a moment until her teammates swarm her prone body. They have eyes only for her.

Steady but with a sense of urgency, Shrike cracks a biotic grenade on the shoulder of the Raptora; Pharah can’t help the hysterical giggle that rises in her throat, but it only serves to remind her of the ragged hole there. The golden smoke floats toward the young soldier’s face as she gasps and chokes, trying to breathe deeply. Tears gather at the edges of her eyelashes as her mother kneels next to her. Her worried face is only a blur in the glow of the nanites, growing dimmer with each passing second, with each labored breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm the one who wrote this and everything but, wow. That would be an awful way to die...


	3. Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana takes what steps she must in order to salvage the operation on all levels.

As a young girl, Ana vowed to never grow accustomed to the feeling of loss. Her bright eyes watched the burials of family and friends throughout the years, young and old, lost to violent deaths and disease, tragedy and accidents. In her heart, she lets herself feel the weight of each death; her intention is not to be burdened by it but to hold it briefly as a reminder. The ethereal trails that each life leaves on her heart don't go unnoticed by Ana Amari, even more so as she begins taking lives.

Like many Amaris before her, Ana is deadly and irreplaceable. And still, she takes no pride in the nature of her skills. Even as she accepted an active role in field medicine, the Overwatch sniper remained cool, collected, humble. Ever stoic and reserved about her work, Ana took pride in being the guiding hand, the conscience, the humanity behind the Overwatch command, instilling compassion into their operations, never taking anything- least of all a life- lightly. Aloof, rational, unflappable- the strong Captain that her team needed.

And yet, as her gloved fingers fumble the biotic needle in her hands, Ana struggles to keep this in mind. In her lap, Fareeha breathes in ragged breaths; her eyelashes flutter, dislodging dust as it settles. The cold sand beneath the Amaris blooms red, steaming with the younger’s blood. Ana spares a withering glance at the remains of the biotic grenade, smashed as a means of quick first aid. The bite wound gushes slower now, but the harsh breathing leaves Fareeha’s condition up to chance: either the airborne nanites fixed enough damage to prevent her from drowning in her own blood or Fareeha is taking her last breaths.

Close to Ana’s own discarded mask, the Raptora helmet lay fallen in the rubble glinting in the light from the flashlight between Ana’s teeth. She swallows the bitter taste of the cold metal and steadies her own breathing.

Fareeha gasps.

Within a few breaths, her breath is shallow but steady and Ana’s heart leaps at the sound. She steadies the needle, exhales, and inserts it beneath the skin of Fareeha’s neck where the nanites glow is finally dulling. At once, the glowing nanite solution empties into the repaired carotid artery. Fareeha’s skin glows briefly, then she is simply breathing softly, ashen skin illuminated only with the moonlight.

Ana allows herself to look up now, struggling to re-assume her role as captain, and not just as medic and worried mother. Reinhardt stands at attention, swiveling his shield to protect the two women on the ground. Lena’s back is to her but she can see the tension in her shoulders as she aims her pistols to the other side of them. Angela sinks to her knees, flipping open a panel in her caduceus. Ana watches as the younger medic scrutinizes the readout, her face nearly unreadable.

But she doesn’t wait for Angela’s verdict. Ana smooths Fareeha’s hair away from her clammy forehead and says, “We’re going back to Gibraltar.”

* * *

 

The ride back to Dahshur is uneventful.

She clambers into the back of the Jeep, followed shortly by Angela. Reinhardt gently lays the unconscious Fareeha in Angela’s lap while Ana grabs the controls for the remote drone. Then he crams himself next to Lena so he can shield them from any danger. Ana doesn’t protest, but she knows the danger has passed.

Ana allows herself to only half-focus on accelerating the vehicle ahead of them. Even though she wants nothing more to with the Helix prototype, Ana decides to drive it ahead of them anyway, thinking all the while of the absurdity of the situation.

“Shrike,” Angela says softly and Ana doesn’t bother to correct her. Technically, the mission is not yet complete, but there’s hardly any need for the formality now. “She’s stable. She’ll be fine.”

“Of course. Between the two of us, there’s no need for her to ever worry,” Ana says, biting back a bitter tone. She watches as Angela holds a compress over Fareeha’s throat. “She’s still bleeding?”

“Just a bit. As to why, I cannot be sure, but I suspect there’s something lodged in the wound that we cannot see. Simple surgery will fix that.” Angela cradles Fareeha tighter as they hover over the bumpy road, marking their proximity to civilization. The sand transitions to gravel in a scant few meters; the first farmlands come into view.

Their safehouse is on the edge of the city and Ana directs the remote control drone to park in the dunes just beyond it. Helix can collect it later for all she cares. Their mission is no longer Overwatch’s, contracts be damned. The thought is an indulgent one, and it takes several breaths to quell her rage. Ana grimaces as she realizes, however, that their relationship with Egypt and Helix is far too tenuous to throw to the wind. They have too few bridges to be burning any.

She keys in the passcode to the safehouse- an innocuous farmhouse surrounded by lush green crops, probably cotton. Ana then holds the door open to allow Reinhardt to carry Fareeha’s limp body inside. There’s nothing that can truly be done for Fareeha without taking her back to Gibraltar. There’s nothing that can be done for Overwatch if they all return with her.

“Angela, Lena, take Fareeha back to the watchpoint.” They all look to her as she speaks. “Reinhardt and I will reconvene with Helix in the morning and update them about the situation.”

Angela’s expression flickers from pain to understanding. “Of course. We’ll see her there safely.”

Ana nods, grateful for the lack of argument. She can only hope Fareeha will understand as easily. With that settled, she gestures to Lena and they leave the safehouse once more to drive to the airfield, sticking to the perimeter of the city rather than driving straight through.

While Ana drives, Lena is quiet, uncharacteristically so. It’s not until they’re well on their way through the dark, empty streets between Dahshur’s surrounding farmlands that she says anything at all.

“Cap, I’m getting the feeling that they knew what we were going to walk into…”

Ana hums, not quite loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the engine. She sees Lena look over.

“But, you saw what I saw, right? That wasn’t an ordinary mission. That wasn’t _normal-_ ”

Ana nods tersely and Lena deflates at the clear dismissal. It’s not until they arrive at the airfield and parks that she turns to the Brit and offers her a strained smile.

“Focus on getting Angela and Fareeha back to base. I’ll deal with Helix.”

Lena twists her lips into a frustrated pout.

“Lena, your role is no less important than Reinhardt and I getting to the bottom of exactly what we walked into. But you should know that a wound of that severity needs more attention than what we can give on the field.”

Lena squares her shoulder and takes a deep breath, then reaches over to pat Ana's knee. “Fareeha’s gonna be just fine, Cap. Angie’s got her. But I _really_ don’t like the idea of Overwatch being cannon fodder to the few countries we thought we could trust.”

Ana shoos Lena out of the jeep. “Likewise, Lena. Now go.”

Lena tosses Ana a snappy salute, then dashes off to the hangar where one of Overwatch’s two VTOL jets is stored. Ana takes the moment to lean back and gaze out of the jeep’s open roof at the clear skies above. Out here on the edges of the city, the sky is almost as star-studded as it had been out near the pyramid.

There’s no helping it as her mind strays to the horrors of the tomb. Desiccated corpses with twisted expressions. Burned-out computer screens and destroyed monitoring equipment. Writhing shadows with golden eyes and deafening snarls. Their hasty retreat as they realized there was nothing that affected the ravenous beasts. The cold shard of ice as Ana feared not only for herself but for the two young women trapped with her in the pyramid. They had been lucky to scramble over the bizarre corpses and escape, protected only by the grace of a biotic grenade. But as the image of Fareeha’s torn throat comes to mind, Ana feels a shiver go down her spine.

They were not lucky; they were _spared_.  

The hum of jet turbines startles her out her grim reflections, so Ana starts the jeep and drives back toward the country road, watching Lena taxi onto the runway in the rearview mirror.

Ana has questions. Helix _will_ have answers.


	4. Ivory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena tries to keep her focus on the issue at hand, like she was asked to do.

As Lena prepares for take off, she reminds herself that just because she’s flown better jets than this, doesn’t mean that she hasn’t flown _worse._ At times like these, some things are worth being thankful for; not much else is going for Overwatch at the moment.

The Harrier only has enough fuel to get them back to Gibraltar and back to Egypt once more. Lena lets out a dry huff of laughter when she realizes the irony. If Ana and Reinhardt cut ties with Egypt and Helix, they’ll have to find another way back. Better to check in with them before she takes the jet out of Gibraltar, lest they all get stranded.

Otherwise, after she checks the rest of the gauges and outputs, the jet’s ready to taxi out, so Lena straps in and backs the craft up carefully. Once she’s clear of the hangar, the vertical takeoff is quick and easy and she’s on her way back to the safehouse. Despite the older model of the jet, it’s still just about as quiet as any other modern aircraft.

As the lights of Dahshur pass by underneath, Lena focuses on the lights in the cockpit and not how _bothered_  she feels. Cap said it best- she needs to keep her focus on getting Fareeha back to base so Angela can operate on her properly and help her recover. Her focus should _not_  be on the rancid stench of decay and fried circuitry within the tomb or the pools of sticky blood or the shadowy beast that tore Fareeha’s throat out. Those are the things not worth thinking about.

Lena can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine regardless.

She lowers the jet onto the gravel road adjacent to the safe house and lowers the ramp. By the time she’s out of the pilot seat, Angela and Reinhardt have carried Fareeha onto the jet and begun strapping her into the single fold-out gurney that the jet has. The Raptora gets strapped into one of the transport seats, a bit haphazardly arranged, as most power armour looks when manually removed. Frankly, it looks like a pile of brightly colored scrap metal, but its pilot is more important at the moment. Once Fareeha’s secure and Reinhardt’s back in the safe house, Lena closes the ramp and takes the jet back up. They ascend into the atmosphere, leaving Egypt behind.

For the most part, the three hour flight is quiet, what with Angela staying in the back with Fareeha. She comes up to the cockpit a few times just to sit quietly with Lena, not bothering with the headset, watching the horizon with detached interest.

There is one time however, when Angela does slip the headset over her ears and speak.

“Lena... how are you holding up?”

In lieu of immediately answering such a loaded question, Lena laughs. “I’m not hurt, so I can't complain." Angela gives her a _look_ , so she relents. "Just shaken, I guess.”

“Understandable,” Angela says, folding and unfolding the loincloth of her Valkyrie suit. “These are… this is… an odd situation…”

“I know that voice. That’s your thinking voice, Angie.” Lena manages to keep the tremors out of her voice and inject some cheerful teasing, because this is happening. They’re about to talk about the hellishness in that tomb. Even though she doesn’t really want to, perhaps they should.

“I _have_ been thinking.” Angela shifts her body toward Lena, curling up a bit in the seat. “But I can’t explain any of it.”

“Call me silly, but it felt like a curse.”

Angela doesn’t laugh, doesn’t call her silly, only regards Lena with a solemn expression. Unnerved, Lena turns her attention back to the horizon.

“We didn’t take anything. We weren’t even in a proper tomb. The blueprints indicated that area was more of a shrine.”

Lena scoffs. “So we desecrated a shrine-? Is that any better?”

Angela grumbles something that Lena can’t quite make out. Then: “We didn’t desecrate it. We only documented the scene. We'd barely touched anything before the dogs attacked.”

“Take only pictures, leave only footprints, right?” Lena delivers the conservation motto like a punchline, but Angela does not look amused. _Right, too soon._ “Sorry.”

“No, you’re well within your rights to joke a little bit. I was just...thinking…”

Lena glances over but Angela’s gaze is toward the back of the jet, no doubt focused on her sedated girlfriend.

 _Then what did Fareeha do?_ The unspoken question hangs in the air.

“Maybe it was just a warning.” Lena shrugs. “And we ran, so we didn’t end up like those poor saps before us.”

Still the question remains.

Angela barely seems to have heard. “It’s just that the idea that we hallucinated the whole incident loses credibility when we consider what happened to Fareeha.”

Lena deflates, chewing at her lip for a moment. “We’ll ask her when she wakes up, yeah? There’ll be some explanation for this-”

“Besides magic?”

“Er, yeah, probably.” Angela shoots Lena a wry look, but it’s clear that the thought doesn’t exactly thrill the good doctor either.

Angela stands, ducking her head to keep from crashing into the cockpit’s low ceiling. “I think I'll get some sleep before we arrive. Fareeha needs my steadiest hands after all. Ask Winston to bring a gurney, will you? I’d rather have her stabilized than carry her on a stretcher again.”

Rather than waiting for an answer, Angela slips her headset off and places a gentle hand on Lena’s shoulder. Lena sighs and pats Angela’s hand in return. There’s less than an hour between them and Gibraltar, so at least there’ll be time to talk with Fareeha soon. Maybe she'll have the answers that none of them have yet.

As Angela heads back, Lena rolls her shoulders and settles in for the rest of the flight. 

* * *

As requested, Winston is waiting for them when they land on the watch point tarmac, gurney at his side. The scientist pushes it up the ramp and Lena helps Angela transfer Fareeha over to it.

"Do we have any idea what happened?" Winston's voice is a low rumble as he considers Fareeha's sleeping form. Angela shakes her head once; her thoughts are clearly elsewhere.

"As far as we know, it was a particularly nasty dog attack." Lena pats Winston on the shoulder, trying to be reassuring. It's not the first mission that's been a bit botched, but it's certainly one of the bigger ones. "Don't worry about it, big guy. She's gonna be alright. And Cap's gonna get to the bottom of it."

Before Winston can ask any more questions, Angela cuts in.

“Lena, would you mind assisting me with the surgery?” When Lena raises her eyebrows, Angela adds, “The foreign object is too big to be broken down by nanites.”

“Sure thing, doc. I’ll be along in a bit.” While Winston follows Angela, fretting over Fareeha and holding open the doors, Lena powers down the Harrier down properly and closes the hangar gates. It takes a bit longer for her to shimmy out of her outfit and store the combat parts of her kit, but then she’s off to the med bay as well.

Angela has Fareeha hooked up to an IV drip, a pulse monitor, and an oxygen mask around her face, being that intubation isn’t exactly an option. This won’t be Lena’s first time helping with a traditional surgery; these days, nanites are reserved for the gravest of battlefield injuries. Her small hands and tendency to be uninjured have made her Angela’s favorite nurse over the past couple of months.

She washes her hands thoroughly, scrubbing the dirt from under her short nails and donning a pair of fresh gloves and a scrub top. She does notice that Angela’s avoided removing her own mission kit, save the wings which must still be somewhere in either Egypt or the jet. The sense of urgency, or perhaps curiosity, drives her to do silly things, evidenced by the face Angela makes when Lena hands her a clean scrub top to wear. She puts it on without a fuss, but returns to disinfecting the area around Fareeha’s wound and covering her with a drape, allowing only Fareeha’s neck to be exposed.

Unsure of where she’s needed, Lena gestures to next to Angela and across from her until Angela points at her side, so Lena nudges a stool over and begins prepping the tools on the surgical tray for use.

Aside from the beeping of the monitor, the med bay is terribly quiet while Angela carefully reopens what had been able to heal over the past few hours. She passes a nanite scanner over Fareeha’s neck, then waits until her tablet pairs with the tiny machines. The nanites’ tiny cameras provide a composite picture of the obstruction that Angela uses to direct her movements. Cutting carefully around the tissue, she reveals the object and Lena stares at it on the screen, fascinated as it slowly leaves the cameras’ sight. It’s yellowish, conical, and clearly not dissolvable. As Angela pulls it out with a forceps, the object’s identity is glaringly obvious.

It’s a tooth.

Angela holds it up to the harsh surgery spotlight, frowning at the blood streaked bone. It’s unmistakably a dog’s canine- long, curved and wicked.

“Blimey…” Lena breathes, holding out a metal dish for Angela to drop the tooth in. It lands with a resounding _clink._ “No wonder she was still bleeding.”

Angela shakes her head. “Truly a wonder. Sutures please?”

Lena places the dish back onto the tray and hands over the dissolving sutures. Nothing reminds her of how talented Overwatch’s doctor is than her seamlessly transitioning between traditional surgery and nanite directed surgery. Her needlework is somewhat of an art, quick and efficient, pulling muscle and skin back together until they can heal in their proper places. In less than half an hour, Fareeha’s skin is nearly whole again, save for the slightly jagged line of the bite marks.

Angela wipes away the last smears of blood, then removes the drape. She walks around the bed to remove Fareeha’s mask and turn off the oxygen, but leaves the IV and pulse monitor.

Lena also stands, getting ready to clean up the surgical tray, remove scalpel blades and the like, but something odd catches her eye. Or rather, something  _doesn't_ catch her eye.

“Angie, did you take the tooth for testing already?”

“No? I hadn’t even thought about that yet. Why?” Angela looks up, alarmed.

The dish is still there. Its sides are high and curved, but Lena lifts it to look under it anyway, hoping it had somehow rolled away. Angela helps her look, even going so far as to peek under the bed. They look around Fareeha, on the other counters, in the creases and pockets of their clothes, but there’s no helping it.

The tooth is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels like im writing a ghost story and to be honest... i kinda like that


	5. Dunes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha wakes up, disoriented.

Fareeha does not wake peacefully.

She jolts out of a deep sleep to the sensation of fine sand scouring the delicate lining of her nose. Inhaling and snorting violently, Fareeha rolls over as the sand hits the back of her throat with such force that she nearly throws up right then and there. She hacks and coughs, spitting black sand onto the ground. She retches until her ribs ache with the strain. As her breathing evens out and she rolls to her back again, she realizes two things: the ground under her palms is very rough and the air is unbearably hot.

Fareeha winces, groaning and squinting at the harsh sunlight. Her clothes catch on the rough ground and she lifts her arm in surprise, almost too fast for the heat. Rather than her Raptora, a fine linen dress adorns her figure, loose enough to move in but still held in place with a braided belt. She frowns, a sense of wonder filling her as she feels the fabric between her fingers.

Fareeha sits up. The view is familiar, even though when she looks over her shoulder, Dahshur isn’t behind her. The sun sets ahead of her, sinking into the dunes and casting a brilliant amber hue across the landscape. It’s breathtaking, even more so than the starry sky she remembers. The comparison does call into question how she is _here._

“Well, this sure ain’t Kansas,” she mutters to herself, fondly recalling one of Jesse’s favorite bastardizations of the classic line. Careful not to trip on the hem of her dress, she gets to her feet, still marveling at the sunset over the dunes. From this vantage point, there’s no mistaking it. Under her feet is the Anpu pyramid once again, but as she remembers, she was not on top of it last.

The fantastical scenery, the dress, the lungs full of sand, the ache at her throat. It all points to a dream, but she can’t quite believe she is alone here. Fareeha crouches, using one hand to keep herself steady, then peeks over the sides of the pyramid. Both south and east sides are empty but when she peers over the north edge, two golden eyes stare back at her.

The dog’s expression is passive, but it doesn’t stop Fareeha from flashing a startled grin. Did she expect this? Yes. Was she prepared for it? Not exactly. Is her brain being a little sluggish? Perhaps. Regardless, what falls out of her mouth is this:

“Oh, hey Toto.”

The dog blinks slowly, as if it’s trying to decide if it should be offended. Fareeha backs up and stands, watching as the dog stretches. Then it bounds up the jutting limestone blocks until it’s on the same footing as her. It’s her, the dog, and the Anpu pyramid under their feet. In the light of day, the dog feels less frightening. Its fur bristles indistinctly like iron filings on a magnet but its nose is just as wet looking as any regular dog and its ears flicker like a doberman’s.

When the dog finally speaks, the air reverberates with the sound. The voice comes out of its mouth, even though its jaw is locked into a snarl.

“ _Y_ _ou mock me.”_

“I do not.” Fareeha pauses for a moment, then dares to sit down in front of the dog. The snarl melts off its face as it tilts its head in confusion. “Okay, maybe a little. But now we’re even.”

“ _The scales are not balanced with your petty gesture!”_

“You called me a Pharaoh, which I am not. I called you Toto, which you clearly are not.” Fareeha raises her eyebrows at the dog until it snorts and sits down.

_“I will allow you that one transgression. Though it is more than you deserve.”_

Fareeha rolls her eyes and looks past the dog at the sunset which dyes the landscape an even deeper red as the sun continues quickly downward. When the dog doesn’t say anything more, Fareeha concedes.

“Right, well, my name is Fareeha. My callsign is Pharah.” She licks her lips, trying to think of the least offensive way to point out the obvious. “I think that’s where the confusion happened.”

_“As I said in the mortal realm, you are a pharaoh, no matter what you are called. You should not abuse your powers so flagrantly.”_

She can’t help but get a little irritated at its arrogance, biting out a mocking retort before she can stop herself. “Hi Fareeha, nice to meet you. My name’s Toto. Sorry I tried to kill you.”

If the dog had hair, it would have been flipped haughtily over its shoulder. _“Why would I say that? I am Anubis and I have nothing to be sorry for.”_

Fareeha’s heart stutters. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a deity of some kind is something she’d surely suspected, since the moment she spotted those golden eyes in the darkness. The admission still shocks her, but she tries not to let it show.

“I thought a god would be nicer.”

“ _I am_ just _, not kind. You deserve the death I offered you. It was only your witch that kept your heart from my scales.”_

Fareeha’s heart eases as Anubis answers yet another question she’d been worrying about. This dream is just that and not the afterlife. At worst, it’s a near death experience.

When the rest of his words sink in, Fareeha wrinkles her nose. “Don’t call her that.”

Anubis pulls his lips back from his teeth in a taunting grin. _“Are you ashamed of relying on a witch to serve your every need?”_

Realizing Anubis is deliberately trying to get a rise out of her, Fareeha leans back and chuckles. “Didn’t _you_ have witches? Back when people still believed in you?”

 _“Such insolence!”_ Anubis lunges at her, but this time, Fareeha easily dodges to the side. Anubis yelps, unable to stop himself from flying off the pyramid. Despite the dreamscape and the divine nature of her canine companion, Fareeha watches in horror as Anubis tumbles down the side and dissolves into black sand upon impact with the ground. After a moment’s hesitation, Fareeha starts to scale the limestone blocks, carefully making her way down. In the shadow of the pyramid, the sand is cool underfoot.

Fareeha wipes the sweat off of her brow with the loose collar of her dress and waits. She tries discern black sand from brown, but she can’t. It all looks the same in the shadow. “Hello? Anubis?”

It takes a moment before she notices any response, but eventually, the sand swirls, forming a cloud of darkness a few steps away until it reforms into a dog once more. He shakes his head and growls as if daring her to mention the mishap.

_“I had priests. I sponsored their power and they never once forgot where it came from. Your witch has no sponsor, no pantheon. She works untempered magic.”_

_Figures he’d still be hung up on that._ “It’s medicine. Not magic.”

 _“Do not speak to me as if I do not understand medicine._ ” Anubis flattens his ears but doesn’t try to attack her again. _“Sponsorship is what is important, girl!”_

“First of all, stop calling me girl. I’m not some kid you picked up.” She crosses her arms, staring down at him. “Again, you tried to kill me. I think I deserve a little respect for putting up with that.”

 _“I will call you what I wish, mortal.”_ Anubis sneers, baring his teeth. His form swells, drawing in the shadow and rapidly approaching twilight. For the first time since she woke up on this bizarre plane, Fareeha feels a twinge of fear. _“You are thousands of years younger than me. I am eternal, everlasting, and as old as death itself. Your life pales in comparison.”_

“Right,” says Fareeha, drawing out the word to emphasize how unimpressed she is by his posturing. She shrugs, trying to hide how she’s inching toward the west side of the pyramid at the same time. “And that’s why you were… eating corpses in a pyramid that no one visits?”

_“What?”_

Fareeha shrugs again, making an aborted motion to shove her hands in pockets she doesn’t have. “I bet eternity is pretty lonely.”

_“Do not presume to know my feelings, girl!”_

His demeaning tone doesn’t phase her this time. Fareeha is far too caught up in her thoughts to really notice. “Wait, were you literally... Hold on a second, that was your temple, wasn’t it?”

_“What a foolish thought. Pyramids are tombs. It is that of a pharaoh.”_

“But one that was dedicated to you.” Fareeha watches Anubis freeze; his tail droops slightly.

He hesitates. _“More than most.”_

“So this?” Fareeha rounds the corner of pyramid, feeling safer in the sunlight, even if there’s not much left. She turns and gestures at the towering structure but doesn’t turn back around to see if he’s still following; she knows he is. “This was essentially yours.”

 _“Always assume that I do not care for your theatrics.”_ Anubis begins to circle Fareeha and it takes every inch of self-control to keep from watching him do so. _“What conclusion have you come to?”_

“The utter carnage inside. That was you, trying to get people out of your space. One of the few places on earth left for you. They didn’t belong there.” Fareeha meets his eyes as he comes to stand in front of her. “That I get, but I didn’t do anything. _We_ didn’t do anything. We were trying to help.”

_“Another invasion is not help.”_

“You could have told us to leave.”

_“As if you would have listened.”_

Fareeha frowns, thinking fast. “Well, we’ve surely left now, thanks to you _attacking me_. We can make sure no one else goes there. Frankly, we could clear out whatever was inside too and seal it again.”

Anubis doesn’t seem impressed by the offer. _“Do you mean you would have your followers do it?”_

It takes a lot of self control to not bristle at the dismissal _and_ the reasserted pharoah insinuation. “No, because I don’t have any. I’m not the leader. We’re a team.”

 _“Yes, with a witch and a false pharaoh,”_ Anubis sneers. _“What a fine team you make.”_

Paying no mind to the fact the sun is practically set, Fareeha snaps back, “And what are you— our dungeon master? A _witch_. A _false pharoah_. Sure, and a paladin, a time-traveler, and a rogue. Just _trying_ to fix some of the injustices of the world when we stumbled upon a god wallowing in self-pity and self-righteousness. At least we’re _doing something.”_ She takes a breath, then continues, emboldened. _“_ And no matter what this dream looks like, I know we’re not at your pyramid anymore. You’re out of your jurisdiction; it’s time for you to leave. _”_

Anubis barks twice. It sounds like a laugh but Fareeha can’t quite be sure. She’s far too caught up in the fact that she just told an ancient _god_ what to do. Anubis eyes her, irises gleaming with an unearthly light, but she squares her shoulders and holds his gaze.

 _“Perhaps.”_ Anubis dissolves into black sand once more and flows away on the wind, leaving her alone in the darkness of the desert. Fareeha shivers. The linen doesn’t offer much warmth, but the only shelter is the pyramid next to her. She is _not_ going in there.

Hopeful, she pinches herself hard, but it does nothing. So Fareeha does the only other thing she can do.

She starts walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sing song voice* _he's heeeeere~_
> 
> also, because I'm a meme loving fuck—
> 
> anubis: be careful with your dress. its expensive egyptian linen.  
> fareeha, frowning: but its not even soft?  
> anubis: sometimes...things that are expensive...are worse.


	6. Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela sits with Fareeha as the sun rises over Gibraltar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the wait. As I mentioned in THH's latest end note, I'm starting a new job as a teacher next month, so updates will be less regular/more spaced/possibly shorter as I must prioritize my students. 
> 
>  
> 
> ......God forbid they ever find my fics.

Even though Fareeha's health is a huge concern for them both, it’s easy enough to send Lena to go rest. Impending sunrise aside, Lena had looked ready to pass out. It’s beyond clear that the younger woman was spooked by the disappearance of the dog tooth, let alone exhausted by the flight and the events at the pyramid. It’s been a long night for them all. If they weren’t so painfully small of a team, Angela would suggest a short leave of absence for her, but at the very least, Reinhardt and Ana need to be brought back first. Afterwards perhaps a short trip back to London— and thus to Emily— could be arranged for her.

Shortly after Lena left, Fareeha had begun to whimper in her sleep, frightened little noises that had Angela scrambling to identify the problem.  After examining Fareeha’s neck thoroughly and replacing the bandage, Angela turned her attention toward Fareeha’s face, contorted with pain. A thin stream of blood trickled from one nostril.

When Angela investigated further, she found dozens of fresh microabrasions, no doubt terribly painful, coating the inside of Fareeha’s nostrils. A difficult area to treat because of the sensitive mucous lining, but with careful use of a swab, Angela applied a thin layer of analgesic salve.  Soon, both bleeding and whimpering ceased, replaced with the snoring of a deep sleep. Amused, she’d rummaged in her supplies until she found a little adhesive strip to lay over her nose. Adorable as she found the snoring, it was better to avoid further irritation.

It’s been a couple of hours since then. Right now, Fareeha sleeps peacefully. Her exhales are soft breathy whistles; her inhales are almost silent. The med bay’s machinery hums, clicks and beeps in a familiar rhythm. It’s a chorus that would put most people to sleep, especially Angela.

The thought of more sleep does not thrill her, hence why she’s parked herself next to Fareeha’s cot with her tablet and a mug of instant coffee from her office stash. It’s a small wonder that the smell didn’t wake Fareeha, considering how much she loves to chastise Angela for drinking unhealthy amounts of it.

Even so, the caffeine has nothing to do with the slight tremors in her hands. She grips her stylus tighter to get them to stop. Angela looks up at the monitors, letting her brain connect the steady sound of the beeps to the reassuring rise and fall of the cardiogram readout. She keeps her eyes on Fareeha’s chest as it rises and falls rhythmically as well; comforted, Angela slows her breathing to match.

 _Had I seen a shooting star last night_ , Angela thinks wryly, _I might have wished for a more impartial medic._

And yet, a more impartial pair of medics may not have reacted so strongly to the sight of Fareeha tumbling down the side of a pyramid and out of sight. Indeed the spike of fear that she’d felt could be only rivaled by that of Ana’s own. She frowns, remembering how relieved she’d been that Fareeha was outside and out of harm’s way as they fled the tomb. Her eyes flick to the bandages on Fareeha’s neck, hiding fresh and barely healed wounds.

_Out of harm’s way indeed..._

Angela allows her attention to return to the photos on her tablet, from one mystery to another. In the dimly lit tomb, pictures of the contorted corpses did not come out well, even with their flashlights and camera flash. Angela slides through the tablet’s photo gallery, examining grisly grimace after grimace for some identifying features. Given the time, she would have taken dental impressions. After all, some of those bodies  _were_ Helix personnel. If there was anything they could salvage from that mission, it might be closure for the families of those laying mutilated in the pyramid. Even the Talon agents had families.

At least, small coin shaped discs help her determine the size of the hands and feet, insignia and tattoos, painted nails and watches. Their silver and white markings contrast well against the dried flesh and putrid blood. They must still be in the pyramid, abandoned when they fled. It gives Angela something to do, as she uses them to approximate the size of the features nearby the disc. She uses the stylus to scribble bright white annotations on the photos, identifying points of traumatic injury. She may not be a coroner by trade, but over the years, she'd found a need to learn certain skills.

The first corpse has the most detailed set of photographs. She zooms in, scrutinizing the teeth in its ghastly grin. The skin of its lips is leathery and wrinkled. As she pans around the image, she can almost smell the tomb again. The stench of roadkill had been enough to make her eyes water. Unlike the freshness of a war zone, the utterly unsalvageable nature of the scene instilled such a different type of gravity in them. Angela can remember the moment she’d collapsed her Caduceus staff and slid it into its back holster with grave finality. There was no battle to be fought against those dessicated and exsanguinated corpses. Only documentation remained as a viable option.

She’s so into scrutinizing various features of the corpse that when Fareeha’s fingertips brush her knee, she jumps. Her gazes darts to Fareeha’s face but her eyes are still closed. Angela places the tablet and stylus on her lap and holds Fareeha’s hand in both of her own. Fareeha’s breath hitches at the contact. Angela freezes, gaze flicking to the monitor and back. It holds steady for the most part, but the pilot’s breathing has taken up a different rhythm. Goosebumps rise on Angela’s forearm as the cold sheets sap the heat from her skin.

Fareeha exhales heavily, then murmurs, “He really doesn’t like you.” Her voice is raspy but Angela’s eyes water at the sound anyway. It’s been a while since she’s heard her speak; after all the last thing she’d heard from Fareeha was screams of pain.

Angela swallows, trying to smile. “And who would that be, _liebling_?” She whispers, simply to humor what is probably only a sleep-talking episode.

As she thought, Fareeha doesn’t answer or open her eyes. After several moments, Angela lifts one hand and reaches to retrieve her tablet pen so she can keep working while still holding her hand.

"Anubis."

Startled, Angela drops her pen. It lands with a clatter on the tile, but she hardly notices. " _Anubis_?” Angela reins in her voice, dropping from a half-shout to a whisper before she continues. “The god program? I thought it was contained-”

"No, the _god_.” Fareeha’s eyes flutter open, revealing pupils that are so dilated that they threaten to obscure the thin ring of her brown irises. She struggles to properly focus on Angela, who moves closer to listen to the first possible clues about the botched mission. “Thinks you're a witch...doesn't like that... 'there's no pantheon sponsoring your power'..." Fareeha raises her free hand and wiggles two fingers weakly to form an air quote. Angela stares at the gesture then looks back at Fareeha’s sleepy expression.

"Oh that's...fair, I suppose.” Angela chides herself for thinking a sleep-talking episode would yield any critical information. Trying not to let on her disappointment, she smiles softly at Fareeha. “Science is a magic of its own."

Fareeha grunts, closing her eyes once more. Angela decides not to pry any further. She turns over the information in her mind, wondering. It’s so  _specific,_ but then, dreams can be. Just as she thinks it’s safe to retrieve her pen, Fareeha speaks up again.

"Told 'im to fuck off," Fareeha grumbles and Angela snorts in surprise. Such crass language is not exactly unusual for a soldier such as Fareeha, but something about her casual and sleepy manner lifts the weight from Angela’s shoulders. She rubs Fareeha’s knuckles with her thumb, shaking her head in disbelief.

" _Fareeha Amari_ ," she gasps in mock horror, holding her free hand over her heart. "That doesn't sound very wise."

A sleepy smile blooms on Fareeha's face. "Yeah, but you're more important than him." She squeezes Angela’s hand weakly. Before long, she’s fallen back asleep, breathing deep and even.

After only a few more minutes of watching her, Angela can feel her eyes drooping shut. With confirmation that Fareeha is no worse for the wear, there’s truly no reason to fight her exhaustion any longer. She places her tablet on the counter, pulling her hand away to retrieve her pen and shrug out of her lab coat.

Scrubs don’t make the most comfortable pajamas, but, despite her relatively stable state, Angela would sooner sleep in them than leave Fareeha alone. Armed with a pillow and blanket from another cot, Angela settles into her chair, grasps Fareeha’s hand in hers once more, and lays her head next to Fareeha’s legs.

“Athena, would you mind dimming the lights?”

“Not at all, Dr. Ziegler,” says the A.I., already beginning to close the blinds and shut down the florescent lights above them.

 _It’s comforting,_ Angela thinks, yawning as she snuggles into the limp pillow at Fareeha's side. _And perhaps a bit romantic, to know Fareeha’s priorities._ The thought makes her squeeze Fareeha's hand a bit tighter, happy to be in her presence. Happy to know she is safe and whole once more.

Though Angela has to wonder, as sleep takes her, whether the old adage of ‘truth being stranger than fiction’ will hold true, with such odd fantasies coming from Fareeha’s dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a weird contrast, with this chapter being 1/4 of the update length of the latest THH update. Anyway, cheers?


	7. Envoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana will have her answers, perhaps more than she expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A look into what Ana and Reinhardt are up to...  
> (Back to Angela and Fareeha next chapter...)
> 
> For clarification: Helix's Raptora squad is specialized. In my headcanon/this 'verse, Helix is borderline paramilitary and have other divisions, such as infantry.  
> Cpt Basri and Lt Isa are OCs.

The beds in the safe house are not made with Reinhardt in mind, but then not much in the world is. Even with two of the beds pushed next to each other and the crusader curled into a ball, his feet still hang off the side. His huge form is barely contained in on one, let alone two. Despite this, Reinhardt snores soundly. His deep rumbling is not what wakes Ana awake. In fact, warm in Reinhardt’s embrace, Ana wakes calmer than she had gone to sleep.

Another type of rumble wakes her- that of her communications device. The phone only has the barest of functionality- 30-second calls and texts from similar devices.

> **_4:_** **_38am_ ** _S & R _

The dim green tinted screen announces this with all the pomp and circumstance of a paper bag. Nonetheless, Angela’s shorthand for “stable and recovering” brings a profound sense of relief. There was no doubt that Fareeha would be fine, but faith and confirmation are two entirely different things.

“Reinhardt.” Ana lifts her voice ever so slightly. “Wake up, _habibi.”_

For a man so large,  he uncurls so softly, running his hand through Ana’s hair. She allows it, letting time to pause for the moment.

“Has the time come for us to leave?”

“Yes, it’s that time.”

_Time for answers._

* * *

 

Negotiations with people she does not know can be difficult. Ana has no difficulty, however, strategizing with Reinhardt as to how Helix will receive them. Their two-hour drive to the headquarters is anything but silent. They pass the time trying to prepare for whatever paltry excuses may be offered.

Helix is _not_ prepared for them.

Ana strides through the tinted doors, flashing her temporary security badge at the turnstile. Her mission fatigues paint her as a member of the renegade Overwatch but her silhouette betrays her as the deadly Shrike, a shadow that the Egyptian government tried for years to silence. The irony is not lost on her. Her coat swirls in the breeze created by her speed, rustling to a stop as she approaches the receptionist's onyx and cobalt desk.

Reinhardt need only walk behind her, casting an enormous menacing shadow over Ana but so clearly aligned with her goals. Employees and soldiers alike pause to watch him pass by.

Ana flashes a grim smile at the young man at the desk. “Captain Basri wishes to see me.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” says the young man, eyes flicking to the ranks on Ana’s lapel. “He only came in half an hour ago and he didn’t say anything about-”

“We have something to return,” Reinhardt places the burnt-out drone on the desk and pats it _gently_ , denting the casing of it with his armored hand. The receptionist gulps, Adam's apple bobbing.

“I’ll let him know you’re on the way up.” He reaches for the intercom, then pauses. “You must be Captain-?”

Ana restrains the impulse to roll her eyes. “He’s expecting us.”

The elevator ride allows her anger to simmer. Reinhardt whistles along with the jaunty elevator tune. At the sub-level where Basri’s office is, a pair of Helix officers greets them and escorts them the rest of the way.

“Captain Amari, Commander Wilhelm.” A flicker of fear crosses his countenance; if Ana feels any issue with approaching so aggressively, she makes sure it doesn’t show. “Where are the others?”

Ana steps around the chairs in front of his desk and remains standing. “I requested that they withdraw. The circumstances of that tomb led to one of ours being wounded.”

“Are they alright?” Basri sighs, straightening his lapels and rearranging the styluses in front of him.

Ana frowns. “You don’t seem surprised that was the case.”

“If I may be entirely frank with you-”

“That would be a welcome change in our relationship thus far.” Ana holds her hands behind her back, squeezing on in the other, rather than crossing her arms. She may be old enough to be this man’s mother, but there’s no need to act like it. Reinhardt places the drone on the captain’s desk, forcing his complete attention.

To his credit, Captain Basri seems uncomfortable with the accusation, but he doesn’t argue. “Well, yes. Again, to be frank, the Talon forces in that tomb were formidable but we did not send our elite strike team to infiltrate. When only one came back from the mission, we had our doubts about what happened there. ”

“But not enough to inform us of what we might encounter.” Ana pauses. “What _did_ you expect us to encounter?”

“We had assumed the Talon forces overpowered our team. We had confirmed fatalities and one survivor who was… unstable.” Basri pauses, waving his hand over his holoprojector until it goes dark. He meets her gaze evenly. “We truly did believe we were sending you to deal with Talon.”

Ana stands firm. Rather than prompt him, she waits.

This clearly unnerves Basri.

_Good._

“We do not give into hysteria. However, we could not verify that the cause of death had been anything other than a particularly gruesome combat situation in close quarters.” He grinds his teeth, a bead of nervous sweat dripping down his temple. “If I may ask, what _did_ you find there?”

“Considering we did not hear the entire story in the first place,” muses Ana, pretending to be deep in thought as she rearranges the knick-knacks on Basri’s desk.  “I think it would only be fair if you divulge the remainder of your intel first.”

With both Ana and Reinhardt looming over him, Captain Basri has no choice but to relay the tale.

_“Lieutenant Isa was assigned to bring up the back of the line as they entered the Anpu pyramid. He said it was quiet- this we had already known. We’d been attempting to breach the area for some days before but it had gone silent._

_“When Isa and the team arrived, they found no Talon personnel, only the pyramid. They entered. He said the stench was unbearable and as they entered the atrium, they found bizarre equipment- and a dozen mangled corpses._

_“Isa speaks as if spirit stirred them, waiting until they were almost all in the space to reanimate the corpses. As Isa puts it, the gunfire was indiscriminate as the corpses and the shadows themselves fell upon them._

_“Isa is only a lieutenant. He claims his cries of ‘retreat’ went unheeded. He stayed hidden in the nearest hallway, listening to his teammates be “devoured” by evil spirits. When the noises subsided, he peered into the atrium and, by the light of his rifle, saw a giant spectre, covered with golden eyes and dripping with blood._

_“Isa says he escaped with his life only because he fled the pyramid and the spectre disappeared in the light of day. He kept running until he nearly went mad with thirst.”_

Captain Basri stands and turns to observe a painting on the wall. “Now perhaps, you can understand why I was reluctant to share such… a fanciful story with your team during yesterday's briefing. It seemed much more likely that Talon overpowered our team and allowed one to return as a taunt.”

Irritated, Ana _does_ cross her arms now. “Rather than give into superstition, despite a reasonably constructed account-”

“Isa was half out of his wits when he managed to call for extraction. Not exactly a _reliable_ witness.”

“Typically, when faced with the dead and the living, one tends to believe those who can still speak.” She doesn’t try to mask the bite in her words now. “And even if they are not believed, such an incident would certainly be worth mentioning.”

“Captain Amari, with all due respect, we live in an age where the gods and demons we fear are made from metal and binary code, not shadows and blood. We had no reason to believe Isa’s story.” Basri sinks into his chair. “He has never been the most courageous. We assumed he fabricated the tale to save his reputation. I am sure he’ll be relieved to know his story has been corroborated somewhat-?”

Taking that as her cue, Ana finally sits, if somewhat improperly on the arm of the available chair, and tells Basri what happened the night before. She clips her words, keeping the tale short and clinical. It’s not as if she has the benefit of being some weeks removed from the incident, as Basri does.

“I deeply regret the harm that befell Chief Amari,” Basri hums. “And I appreciate you sharing this information with me, despite your...reservations.”

“Captain, if I may?” Reinhardt thunders and it’s not immediately clear from which captain he's seeking permission. Ana nods, privately snickering at Basri’s aborted motion to allow Reinhardt to speak. “It strikes me as _deeply_ concerning that a tenuous partnership such as ours would be threatened by an unwillingness to share information that directly concerns our work.”

“Helix does not _indulge_ in fantasies, Commander.”

“And yet, you indulged in the fantasy that such intelligence would have been better left unshared.”

Basri sputters at the sharp accusation and Ana shoots a look at Reinhardt. He inclines his head, a slight smirk on his lips.

“Captain Basri, despite the issue with trust here, the fact does remain that the bodies of your fallen team remain in that tomb, unburied and unmourned by their families.” Ana frowns, softening her expression. “That alone deserves to be addressed.”

“And what would you have us do? Even you have encountered this _spirit_.” For the first time, Basri drops all pretense of authority, letting his shoulders curl in on himself.  “It is not as if we can deny its existence any longer. It’s formidable and clearly not willing to allow such meddling.”

“Clearly not.”

“The Anpu pyramid has never been a major security point for Helix. It’s a property that we insure but it’s a defunct pyramid with no attractions and no confirmed treasures.” He wipes his face with a towel.  “It hadn’t been personally guarded in years. There was no _need_.”

 _Something has been guarding it,_ Ana thinks, _but it was not Helix._

 _But_ ... _Helix is not military._ Ana narrows her eyes, gears turning. “Why would you be expected to quell a threat with your borderline civilian forces?”

Basri scoffs. “The military wouldn’t touch it. _They’re_ superstitious. But it’s a government treasured relic. Talon couldn’t have it.”

Ana raises an eyebrow, listening to his distraught rambling with rapt attention. Putting pressure on Helix for answers was one thing; actually getting to the bottom of the power struggle that led to such a dangerous mission being put on Overwatch’s docket was another.

_Then, the military knew Isa’s story and refused. But the government insisted it be cleared and secured. And so..._

“So, you called in Overwatch,” Ana says flatly.

Basri turns ashen, realizing he has revealed the gimmick. “It was not _my_ call. It needed to be done, but it wasn’t _my_ decision.”

“I am sure it was not.” Ana stands, drawing herself up to full height. Everything is clear now: the short briefing, the odd equipment, the bizarre circumstances. “I would have _all_ the details of the Anpu pyramid forwarded to me. Regardless of outside influence, Overwatch is an organization that keeps its word and we will complete the mission as we were asked. It would do well for you, and all parties, to allow us to do so.”

With that, Ana turns and walks out, passing the pair of escorts and ignoring their gobsmacked looks. Reinhardt excuses himself as he passes through them, his gentleness soothing some of the disgust Ana feels.

_As always, illegal is expendable._

* * *

Four hours later, when she lands on the outskirts of Beni Suef, Lena looks downright murderous, even if she reins it in and hides it under a smile. Ana is not a sniper for nothing though.

“Cap? Everything alright? Cuz’ these coordinates are nothing like where we were staying and I _said_ we don’t have much to go off on! We’re gonna end up in the Mediterr -”

“We’ll be stopping at Cairo’s air force base for fuel. The Egyptian military has _very_ _kindly_ allowed us to use whatever supplies as we need to complete this mission.” Ana smiles grimly, content to allow Lena to process that as she climbs into the jet with Reinhardt close behind.

Ana sinks into co-pilot seat and slips the headset over her ears. In the space of a few moments, she has the cords rigged so she can hear the audio from her communication device. Even so, she hesitates to press the button.

The phone rings and rings, then it picks up. The rustling sound is only amplified by the headset and Ana waits until she hears Angela say, _“Ana?”_

“How is she?” There’s no time for pleasantries.

_“Oh, she’s stable and healing well. She woke up briefly and I think she’ll make a full recovery. She’s had a rabies shot, so that’s not a concern. I’m sure she’ll be awake when you return.”_

“Did she say anything?”

 _“Nothing that made any sense…”_ Angela hesitates. _“I feel silly for even thinking it, but what happened there may have been...”_

“Supernatural. I understand. We’ll talk when I return.” The phone clicks off, their time spent. It’s abrupt but such calls are meant to be. Barest details to be followed up upon later. Just enough to set a mind at ease.

Or set a mind aflutter.

Ana reclines heavily, exhaling as Lena slides into the pilot seat.

“Cap? Everything alright? You’re worryin’ me a bit.”

It’s a natural instinct to dismiss and reassure, but Ana reaches out to pat her hand instead. “It’s alright, Lena. I’ll explain everything when we’re back at Gibraltar, I can promise that.”

Bringing Overwatch back will come with its own share of troubles. This debacle may be one of their first, but it will be far from their last.

Especially if anything is to be different this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hope is _soon_.  
>  I am on break right now and I only have a few days left. I've been wrapping up some personal stuff (drove halfway across the country, whoo!) and hope to at least get caught up on a few things. :')  
> Teaching is...wild.

**Author's Note:**

> (if you're wondering, by chance, if this is the fareeha-centric fic that i mentioned while i was writing sfv, you're correct. it is.)  
> 


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